


Spa Service

by melitta4ever



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, Hot Tub, mentions of D'jara, mentions of strict caste system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melitta4ever/pseuds/melitta4ever
Summary: Being a Prefect is a stressful job. Thankfully there is Tora who can summon peace —and pleasure— just by a single look.
Relationships: Dukat/Tora Naprem
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story as a challenge to write something opposite of the virginal damsel for the predatory Dukat smut. What's better than a Bajoran courtesan for that role. Easy, right? Wrong! Or in other words, beware of angst attack!
> 
> For the rest of the warnings please check the end notes. And if you don't want angst, just don't read chapter two. 
> 
> And special thanks to BrokenBlade for fast and through betaing, the remaining mistakes are all mine.

_ I put my faith in pleasure _

_ As a cure for all my ills. _

La Traviata 

  
  


It wasn't like Damar was trying to be boring intentionally; he summarized the report effectively and quickly, but still, every single word was getting to Dukat's nerves. A stress headache had already started at the back of his neck, slowly radiating toward his temples. 

"The productivity of the ore processing increased by point two percent." Damar continued the bullet points of the analysis.

Point two! After everything Dukat had done since he had arrived at Terok Nor five months ago, it still was more than five percent lower than the expected rate.

"Walk with me," he ordered and started a brisk pace. The officers moved to the side with a respectful dip of their heads while soldiers and civilians alike all but ran out of his way as he pounded the metallic floor, wanting to crush his anger under his feet. 

The Promenade looked bigger and brighter tonight, more crowded as well. At least his efforts at turning Terok Nor into a commerce hub had worked out nicely. The trade revenue alone this year was projected to be more than the total budget of the previous Prefect. He focused on his breathing, slowing it down, filling his lungs. Intellectually, he knew that the air he breathed here was coming from the same recycling unit as the air in his office, but walking in between people from every part of the galaxy, along the decorated store-fronts created a strong enough illusion that he was getting fresh air. 

Point fucking two! 

Of course Dukat hadn't expected that being the Prefect of Bajor was going to be an easy assignment. Still, he had hoped to achieve a number that was higher than the productivity of the Cardassian orphanages. He knew it wasn't because Bajorans were lazy or weak. He wished they were. No, it was because they were such pigheaded, spoiled, tantrum-prone bastards. They simply couldn't accept the undeniable fact: Bajor. Had. Lost. The. Fucking. War. And they were too stubborn to realize that their resistance hurt only them at the end.

Point two! Fuck! This headache was going to get much worse it seemed. Maybe a stop at the infirmary would be a good idea.

As if an answer to his troubles from the universe, he saw Tora, leaving Quark's. She was laughing at something one of the guys, who had followed her out, had said. Head thrown back, chest open, she was fanning herself with an elegant brisé fan while grasping at the arm of the man next to her, as if she needed that support to stop herself falling down due to the force of her laughter. Indeed, it was a powerful laughter, calling Dukat, demanding proximity, promising joy and indulgence... He stepped closer almost unintentionally, answering the call.

She looked gorgeous in her crimson silk dress, wrapping her in all the right places while flowing over her curves like fine kanar and with a cleavage deep enough to drown her hapless followers in. Guys around her, Bajorans and Cardassians —she had that rare power to bring the two species together— were all tilted toward her..as if her gravitational pull was too great to resist..as if they were ready to bow down upon a single gesture that she would bestow upon them.

When she saw him, she paused, effectively stopping all the action around her. With a tilt of her head and a wicked smile, she greeted him.

"Good evening, Sire." Her accent warped the honorific, turned it into something warmer, more personal, almost seductive.

Dukat grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips, without taking his eyes off of hers, "I told you, Tora. You don't have to call me that." Her hands were soft and delicate inside his. He didn't want to let go of their warmth, her scent —reminding Dukat of the rose gardens right after a spring shower— reeling him closer.

"I know I don't have to… but I want to, Sire," she answered, green eyes sparkling with something that almost made Dukat forget about the reason for his stroll.

As a testament to her allure, he saw neither the security, nor their newest saboteur —all shackled up— passing by. Not until the scrawny little bastard spat on Tora with an ugly insult.

"Collaborating whore!" he bellowed and was probably going to continue the filth, but the security scurried him away with apologies to the lady and Dukat.

"I apologise—” Dukat started; as the commander of the station, the protection of the residents was his responsibility; but Tora stopped him.

"Please don't upset yourself with something insignificant like this, Sire." She cleaned herself with the handkerchief someone from her entourage quickly supplied. "It's nothing a little disinfectant wouldn't solve."

"Still, it shouldn't have happened." He would have a talk with the security so that it never would.

"You seem so stressed already. It would sadden me to think that I'm adding to your problems." She stepped closer, and continued with a barely there whisper, "Maybe... I can be of help with some relaxing massage?"

  
  


From the Tholian tulles veiling the exorbitant bed in the middle of the room to the in-ground extravagant hot tub under the star-filled window, Tora's quarters were the embodiment of a single word: pleasure. At the very first step, the rich, pastel colors of the room spirited its visitors away from the Cardassian efficiency of Terok Nor to the warm coziness of some Risian cottage. 

The hot tub was deep and full, letting Dukat sink in the warm water up to his chin. The delicate, enigmatic scent of Khuran oils gently wrapped his body in invisible waves of relaxation, and passion. The warmth was softening his scales while the heady mist was infusing through his skin, soothing both his body and his mind. 

"You seem relaxed already," Tora sat down on the edge of the tub, right behind him. Her usually warm skin felt a few degrees colder on his steam heated body when her long legs crawled over his shoulder and slid down over his chest. The move pushed her naked pussy against his neck, snuggling him tightly between her soft thighs.

"Isn't this too hot for you?" Dukat asked, watching her sensitive, cream skin turning pink in the water.

"Only at the beginning." Her voice had a cheerful melody, carefree like everything else in her room. "I get used to it quickly." Her toes pressed on his torso from both sides, massaging his muscles, tickling his scales on their way down. "I don't think I can dive in like you though." Her hair flowed in front of his face in red curls as she tilted her head down, "My heart wouldn't be too happy," she whispered right above his ear, placing little kisses along the way. "Would you like your shoulder massage now, Sire?" She stretched the word sire mockingly, but the promise of the massage was too good to delve into her unrespectful attitude at the moment. There would be time for that too.

"Please."

She wiggled her gold-covered fingers in front of him, showing how their tips already changed their color with the metal heating up for the optimum experience. 

"You  _ are _ really tense." Her fingers pressed hard around his neck ridges, pushing the scales up at first, then forcing them down. Her hands were both soft and strong over his muscles, finding each and every ounce of stress and seemingly crumbling it in their powerful grasp into nothingness. She pushed his head this way and that, digging deeper around his spine, reaching through layers of scales and skin all the way to his core. Dukat couldn't tell where the nimble fingers' expertise ended and where the vibrations radiating from the metallic finger-gloves started, only that the combination was more effective than a hypospray.

"Nice and relaxed," she whispered after a while, but then her feet started a massage that led him toward the opposite of relaxation. 

Dukat pressed his head deeper into the soft body behind him and enjoyed the way her tiny, nimble toes playfully danced along his ridges. Her gold encased fingers kept working on their magic, but the vibrations were more titillating in nature now, finding the erotic zones hidden in his body instead of the crumbs of stress. She played with him too, giggling every time Dukat's breath hitched when she scraped her toe-nails against the scales, causing them to stand up, disturbing the passion she conjured up in him. 

"They're getting tighter," she snickered when his scales lined up rigid just like his dick and it became too hard for her to continue that game. "I guess I'll behave now." 

Ahhh, wouldn't that be the day?

Her toes moved over his now raging cock, tiny toe-pads massaging along. But every once in a while, she squeezed the very tip tightly, forcing Dukat to gasp and shiver in between his moans.

"You like it, Sire, don't you," she asked with an obviously fake innocence.

Dukat turned his head and found the nipple hiding behind the soft, sheer fabric of her robe. He caught and held it gently between his incisors, a very direct threat. She pressed a toenail right on the tip of his dick, pushing at the tiny hole.

"Bite it," she challenged him, her breath quickened. "I dare you!"

The way she talked to him when they were alone, as if she had nothing to be afraid of, as if she held some power over him, as if she was his equal...was what made him crave her. And that plump ass, of course. He let go of the little nub, after stealing a lick, then rested his head back on her breasts, enjoying her feet's addictive dance.

  
  


"I know another way to relax." He lifted himself up, out of the tub when he could no longer endure that pleasure. "Let's do that."

Tora picked a large, soft towel —so white that it was gleaming under the soft light of the room— and covered his body with it. She kneeled down in the process of reverently drying him, but Dukat had consumed all his patience in that hot tub. He picked her lithe body up and carried her to the colossal bed, all but throwing her on the mattress. Even thrown like that, Tora was the peak of elegance; her hair was fanned out around her head, dark waves of red surrounding her beautiful face, a striking contrast to the white of the sateen sheets. Her robe slid open to one side, baring smooth skin for Dukat's eyes to feast on.

"Are you gonna spank me, Sire?" Even her smirk was enticing on that pretty face. Dukat felt as if something was boiling in his chest, like an old-fashioned tea-pot that had been forgotten on the fire for too long, ready to burst with the might of fervid steam.

"No. I'm gonna fuck you," he grunted and climbed on the bed.

She pouted. "You won't let me get a taste?" She sucked a gold covered pinky finger in her mouth to convey her desire. "I've worked so hard to prepare  _ it _ for...savoring." She sat up in one fluid move, and rounded her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear, "Let's go slowly, Sire. Very… Slowly…"

By now, Dukat should have learned that Tora got what she wanted. Always. So, she  _ got a taste _ as she had put it. Her mouth a burning furnace around him, she kissed and licked and sucked… Her hips grounded Dukat on the bed, pressing her pussy on his chest, hands under his hips, pushing his dick up, further in her mouth. Fingers playing constantly, creating sensations that should not be possible. She rode him to the very edge too many times to count, always reining him back with a flick of her fingers.

Those fingers! They were magic. Even when he was fucking her— slow, slow, slowly as she had asked; she was playing him like a maestro: pressing into his perineum, tapping around his balls, dancing over his ass... Extending, delaying, intensifying his gratification… Flying him higher and higher toward a peak that elusively, continuously, impossibly ascended. 

Those fingers did take breaks —however brief they were— whenever she was quaking under him at yet another peak of pleasure. At those moments when she couldn't control his pace or rhythm, busy riding her orgasm as if mounted on a wild targ, he could have hurried toward his completion. However the pleasure of watching her reach the peak, the pride of shaking her world again and again and yet again was too sweet to forgo.

So it took more than an hour after they got into the bed that Dukat, finally,  _ finally,  _ emptied his essence into her warm, welcoming depths. She squeezed her channel rhythmically, pumping out every single drop that had built up in his balls during their long play. When he was certain that there wasn't anything left in him —no seed or energy— he rose on his forearms and watched her again. Her beautifully made hair was in a disarray of red locks now, covering half her face. Her plump lips were bitten red —by both her and Dukat— shining wet under the soft lights. Her face had that beautiful pink tint, a charming proof of how hot her blood ran. Even after fucking her for so long, she was a sight that Dukat couldn't get enough of.

She slid out under him, stepped to the side table and then quickly cleaned him, using warm, scented towels. Her hands were gentle and soft over his scales, moving ceremoniously as if they were preparing Dukat for something more important than just rest.


	2. Chapter 2

_ So, for the wretched woman _

_ Who's fallen once, _

_ The hope of rising is for ever gone! _

_ Though God should show His mercy, _

_ Man will never forgive her. _

La Traviata

  
  


"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, watching her tidying herself up in front of a mirror.

"Not at all, Sire," she smiled, "I'm getting ready for sleep." Then she slid into the bed next to him. "I'll wake you up in the morning," she whispered, her eyes focused on a point on his pillow. " _ If  _ you want to stay."

With a finger, he lifted her chin up, checking her eyes. "Would I be welcome if I do so?"

That gave her a chuckle.

"I wouldn't ask otherwise." She then mock-whispered, "You know I only charge for the bath and the massage, Sire. The rest is coming from the heart."

That was her way of getting around the station laws. Prostitution without proper paperwork was illegal under Cardassian rule. But what Tora  _ supplied _ was considered a spa service. On paper. A very expensive service but worth every slip of latinum. Tora was an expert in her craft; she was an artist, a master. She was a gift to this station. The only place Dukat could breathe easy, free of the worry and the stress that his position bred. Only place he could find happiness in this grim world surrounding him. An oasis of serenity in this strife-ridden piece of space. 

And those fucking terrorists thought of her as... as if...

"I'm sorry you had to go through that…that incident," Dukat pulled her head onto his chest. He could feel his blood pumping faster, remembering the audacity of the bastard who spat on her beautiful face. "It shouldn't have happened. And never to you, Tora."

"Their words don't cut my skin, Sire," she said, one finger playing with the scales on Dukat's chest. "They cry now because life got harder for them, under the new rules. Where were they for my tears? For any of the Prog'ha?"

"Is your life any better now?" he asked hesitantly. He didn't know exactly what a temple courtesan's duties had involved, but it couldn't be too different than… than now.

She laughed aloud, her eyes crinkling adorably.

"You think being a comfort woman is the same as being a Prog'han?" She placed her palm on Dukat's chest, as if feeling his heart, then rested her chin over that hand, looking directly at his eyes. Apparently what she saw was answer enough. She shook her head. " _ Now _ , Sire, I can choose whom I want to entertain, when I want to entertain and  _ if _ I want to entertain." She sighed, putting her cheek back to his chest again, to the exact place that had warmed under her skin. Her fingers restarted their play, but in a much, much slower rhythm as if they were dancing to a somber music. "Do you know what happened to the kids the Prog'ha spawned?"

"They were sent with their fathers?" Dukat didn't know much about Bajoran D'jarra system, other than that it was gradually becoming a thing of the past.

"Never." Her voice was cold, her eyes closed. "Those men would never accept our babies as their descendants. Prog'ha D'jarra is passed by mothers; the children too are Prog'ha regardless of their fathers... if they are pretty enough."

"If not?" A dread filled Dukat's heart. 

"There aren't many D'jarra lower than us," she said, voice breaking. "The kids were sent to orphanages, ended up living among the Dalikh."

Dalikh, or more commonly named, the Soiled were the lowest in the social hierarchy of pre-war Bajor. They were also among the first welcoming the Cardassian forces. Mine workers, prostitutes, landfill scavengers, undertakers… The ones with hunger in their eyes and sickness in their breath… they had gladly accepted Cardassian laws and the enlightenment.

"Did you—” he started, but couldn't bring himself to finish the question. 

"A daughter," she answered anyway, her gaze fixed in midair, "They said her eyes were not big enough for her face." 

Dukat tilted his head to place a kiss on her forehead, then dried her tears with his hand. 

"I don't even know if she's alive." She inhaled deeply, then forced a cruel smile, "So, no. When they come up all high and mighty, when they yell at me about being a collaborator... I don't feel bad, Sire. I feel good. Let them eat shit, for all I care."

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, mentions of child separation


End file.
